


Spanish rose

by Minne_My



Category: Strictly Ballroom (1992)
Genre: Family, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-21
Updated: 2020-09-21
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:15:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26577415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minne_My/pseuds/Minne_My
Summary: Just Fran
Kudos: 2





	Spanish rose

She'd been named after her mother. After so many lost babies, she had been their miracle child, conceived the week her mother saw a double rainbow. Without sorrow, there was no understanding of happiness, her father had often told her. They said she looked like her, the most beautiful woman Fran had ever seen. She had her eyes. Like a sparkling ocean. Her mother was from the north of Spain, fair and delicate, her handsome husband from the darker south.

Fran preferred to remember her as she was, before the sickness had taken hold of her and she could no longer walk, getting weaker by the month. She had been nine when her mother had ceased to exist in front of her, her future blown out like a flame. Forever young. It made Fran dread getting older. To become cracked and plastered over like Mrs Hastings. Youth was the only thing of value she had and she worried that it was passing her by. How could she ever think she was anything like her mother?

' _It will come'_ said her grandmother reassuringly _. 'You are so much like her. Just wait and see.'_ Fran couldn't see how or when. She felt like a wilted flower. No matter how long Fran looked in the mirror, she could not see her mother's spirit in her. In her heart was all well and good but it didn't light her up. Not yet.

The skip hop and bright lights of the dance floor took hold of her and made her flourish. She was still spotty _Frangipane_ _de la squeegee mop,_ that hadn't changed but she was at least, learning to dance in the hope of seeing the stars. She may be 'Just Fran' but being a sparrow in flight was better than being a just a skivvy in a milk bar. On the dancefloor, no matter how clumsy, she felt like she could soar.

Scott had caught her and spun her around so that she could finally see the stars. No more walking with her eyes to the ground. Time to look up. The Paso Doble steps had felt disjoined and mechanical before then. Now they took on the march of her heartbeat, in line with his.

She'd stumbled, she'd fallen. Clumsy Fran. But when she turned around to compose herself and caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, she came closer. She could see it now. She finally saw the face and spirit of her mother. It had been there all along.


End file.
